


akitsushima

by antagonists



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6311623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antagonists/pseuds/antagonists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suzukaze will sometimes find himself lamenting autumn’s approach; the drifting leaves seem to herald the coming of a fallen prince, another, a wingless princess, a girl of prayers, a sacred mother’s bloodied grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	akitsushima

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in the time i shouldve spent on calc hw

*

 

 

With the shortening days, greens fade to a more nostalgic, unsettling color. The darker the red becomes, the more Kamui looks towards the skies or the grounds, anywhere but where his memories linger. Bitter and inescapable, vivid and scathing even in the dreams that wake him violently at night. Even so, sometimes the sky will remind him of the first Hoshidan prince, (and his eyes briefly flicker with fearful remembrance, the staggering lightning hue, melting armor and burning flesh).

 

Suzukaze will sometimes find himself lamenting autumn’s approach; the drifting leaves seem to herald the coming of a fallen prince, another, a wingless princess, a girl of prayers, a sacred mother’s bloodied grave.

 

“Milord,” he says gently, voice so soft he can scarce hear himself. “Lord Kamui.”

 

Kamui’s fingers worm out from underneath the twisted bedsheets and curl around Suzukaze’s wrist. The gesture is sluggish, habitual. When he breathes in to speak again, the fingers tighten their hold.

 

“Stop that,” Kamui says, and it’s only a moment before the shinobi remembers that he’s crossed the line of a mere retainer long ago.

 

“Kamui,” he says instead, and the lonely prince sits up, leaning forward to press his forehead onto Suzukaze’s collar. He still holds fast to Suzukaze’s wrist, slowly edging towards palm until Suzukaze closes the distance between their fingers. His breathing is labored as if he’s just finished sparring to the point his legs begin to tremble, but Kamui has always hated being coddled as he had been in the past, so Suzukaze sits still and waits.

 

It is difficult for him to wait, now. He has grown so used to the rapid tempo of battle that he often forgets to slow himself and listen to the world breathing.

 

Without Aqua’s soothing voice, her quiet and meaningful presence now gone, sometimes Suzukaze will have to lowly hum the melodies of his childhood. They are not happy melodies—they speak lightly of death and betrayal—but he had known not justice and glory, the pain of sacrifice and blood. Only now, the words haunt him, and the trembling notes press into the pale glimmer of Kamui’s hair.

 

“Suzukaze,” Kamui finally murmurs, voice thick with haunted sorrow and longing. He does not mention his brother, nor Suzukaze’s. “I saw the room again.”

 

He doesn’t elaborate much more, choosing to patrol the grounds and shy away from patches of moonlight. The next day, Suzukaze holds back sighs when Kamui flinches at the distinct glow of healing magic. Under Kamui’s armor, there are self-inflicted bruises on his arms, testaments to his effort not to cry and wake Suzukaze during the night.

 

Suzukaze will wake, anyways, pry Kamui’s fingers away from his own skin. He applies healing balm onto the deep purple. Though he is used to the smell, he still finds it pungent, but Kamui calls it purging. Pleasant, he claims, compared to the smell of drying blood. He runs his calloused fingers through Suzukaze’s hair fondly, yet his eyes are distant. The shinobi presses his palms to Kamui’s eyelids, hushing the small noise of surprise.

 

“There is a prayer I learned when I was younger,” he says. “Meant to ward away lingering spirits of unrest. It was used specifically after we had completed our training and were given our titles.”

 

“After you finished your training,” Kamui repeats, and the end of his sentence trails uncertainly. His sharp nails rest idly at Suzukaze’s waist, arms resting on his thighs.

 

“Each had separate tasks.” Suzukaze looks away although he is not visible. Kamui shifts to move his hands away, but he stays firm. Beneath him, Kamui is warm, pliant. He releases a slow, uneven breath. “Usually to assassinate someone.”

 

“You aren’t a bad person,” the prince reminds him, and Suzukaze swallows before leaning in to whisper archaic words onto Kamui’s lips.

 

 

*

 

 

When Kamui is not preoccupied with other duties and wearing a strong façade, he is often staring out across rippling, unsteady water. Now with autumn nearing, the still silence of the lake is interrupted with the small staccato of leaves, dotting the clear surface unsurely before, inevitably, sinking. The fragile noises seem to comfort the little prince, like the embrace of warm spirits that speak of fond memories not had. This is one of the very few places he can sleep without the greedy press of nightmares.

 

Kamui stirs when he feels a cool breeze over his cheeks, blinking slowly at the darkening sky before he realizes that Suzukaze is sitting beside him.

 

“I fell asleep,” he says groggily, still half-blind and trusting.

 

“You need more sleep,” Suzukaze chides.

 

Kamui groans, rolls over sloppily to push one cheek against Suzukaze’s leg. Suzukaze thinks it’s probably the most relaxed the prince has been since the call of war horns had finished echoing, but he doesn’t expect the pleasant gleam in Kamui’s eyes to last very long. Not with meetings in rooms that had held war councils, not with the bright red fluttering about in the winds. He wonders whether he should take the prince up north, where the snow surely outshines every color.

 

But the glowing snow may remind him of the white paper and salt and smoke in Lilith’s shrine, the robes of Hoshidan priestesses, Queen Mikoto’s flowing dresses and her kind, gloved hands. Suzukaze bites back his suggestion and instead traces Kamui’s jaw with a shaking finger. Here, in the country of darkness, perhaps it would be better to shroud his prince in more and more shadows.

 

“I’m going to fall asleep again,” Kamui mumbles against his leg, eyes drowsy. He’s clutching softly at Suzukaze’s clothes, fingers nudging coldly where his skin is bare. “I don’t want to get up.”

 

“You’ll catch a cold sleeping here,” Suzukaze sighs. He glances up at the lake, catching the glimmer of fluttering glass wings over the mirror surface. The edges of the lake reflect the crimson foliage with an impassive, neutral silence, impervious to time and the human heart. When he looks down, Kamui’s eyes are closed, the rise and fall of his chest slow and even. Mildly amused, he repeats to deaf ears, “You’ll catch a cold, Kamui.”

 

He carries the sleeping prince back to their room, sure to move carefully. Once he reaches the bed and sees the red sheets, he is quick to remove them and request a different set. Kamui shifts uneasily at first, as if he is about to wake, but settles again under Suzukaze’s still hand.

 

Against black, his skin glows like moonlight.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> in mythology, japan is often referred to as 秋津洲 (akitsushima), which translates to "land of the dragonflies"


End file.
